


upon freshly fallen snow

by SearchingforSerendipity



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF Kink Meme, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Dynamics, Gen, Kid Fic, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:02:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SearchingforSerendipity/pseuds/SearchingforSerendipity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Catelyn remembered Harrenhall, how brash and handsome Brandon had been, how lovely and melancholy the crown prince, Lyanna young and reckless. Jon was very much his own boy, his dark moods usually fleeting and easily brightened by his family, but there was a slump to his shoulders and a wetness in his eyes just now that she misliked.</em><br/> <br/>Catelyn and Jon, on how to answer delicate questions and learn to raise (love) children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	upon freshly fallen snow

**Author's Note:**

> In an AU where either Ned told Catelyn Jon was Brandon's bastard or R+L=J and Catelyn cares for him, Theon hasn't been with the Starks long, he teases Jon about his last name being Snow, how that means he's a bastard. Jon runs off and Catelyn is the one to find and comfort him.  
> REPLY
> 
> http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/22515.html?thread=15758835
> 
> I own nothing. Consider this a Christmas gift to you all.

Catelyn was conversing with Winterfell's head cook about next moon's coming feasts when the other woman stopped talking, tilting her chin toward the door mantle and the small figure clinging to the shadows. Excusing herself as the cook curtsied, Catelyn approached carefully on light feet. 

"Jon? Is anything the matter?"

Her nephew didn't answer, hovering in the corridor door uncertaintly. Catelyn made sure not to frown, keeping herself open and approachable. Jon took the most after Ned's sternness from all the children, a trait Catelyn sometimes wondered at. 

Catelyn remembered Harrenhall, how brash and handsome Brandon had been, how lovely and melancholy the crown prince, Lyanna young and reckless. Jon was very much his own boy, his dark moods usually fleeting and easily brightened by his family, but there was a slump to his shoulders and a wetness in his eyes just now that she misliked. 

She closed the door behind them, taking his mittened hand in hers when he made no move to clasp her like all the children did, leading him over towards a windowed alcove. The wool was still damp from snow play. She made sure the ground was clean before hoisting her dress and sitting in her haunches, eye to eye. 

Jon hesitated for a moment before throwing himself at her legs, fur-covered shoulders shaking. Now that they were together alone his stoicalness melted into shuddering sobs. Catelyn smoothed his hair, whispering soothing words as she carried him to a nearby pantry. She found a stool and sat down. Absentmindedly, she noticed he was getting too big for holding him in her lap, almost as heavy as Robb. 

Jon sniffed, stubbornly keeping his eyes on his leather boots. He did thank her when she passed him a handkerchief, her sweet quiet boy. She gave him time to gather himself, casting her eyes through the thin window to the white courtyard while he gathered his dignity, only speaking when his hiccoughing had abated. 

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" 

Jon wrinkled his nose. She had to stifle a smile at the way he clearly fought not to say no. Sometimes he was so much like Ned it gave her pause. 

He lifted his head, looking at her with eyes that were so much like her husband's and children's, little Arya most of all, but had a different shape, if one cared to notice. Something had bothered him to the point of tears, and while she knew Jon tended to feel things deeply, slights easy to fester, he did not have the temperament for expressing them so openly. Already he felt his bastardly keener than she liked, or perhaps the younger son's urge to stand out, seek independence. She ached to think of the day he would decide himself too old for embraces. 

Not today, however. Today he looked at her with wobbling lips, and he seemed unhappy to leave her arms, even has he steeled himself.

"Do you hate me?"

This was not what she expected to hear. Catelyn blinked in shook, but it was clear by the doubt clouding Jon's face that he was in earnest. 

She took his face in her hands, stroking those soft cheeks, "Oh sweeting, no. I love you, Jon, as much as your brothers and sisters. Why would you think that?"

It broke her heart to see how hopeful he looked, how carefully he leaned into her embrace. His fair skin were flushed, more because of humiliation than tears, she suspected. His answer, when it came, did not surprise her as much as it should. 

"It was Greyjoy. He told me I am not anymore of a Stark than he was, because my last name is Snow and I'm a bastard. He said Robb and Sansa and Arya and little Bran would stop caring for me when they realized I didn't really belong here and that you hate me because I'm not really your son and that means Father dishonored you. But Father wouldn't do that, Mother! But if I live that means he did, and you should hate me!"

The speech took much of him, but Jon refused to stop even when his voice broke and quivered. His eyes were wet again by the time he finished; he dashed the handkershief roughly over his face and refused to look away from her.

Gathering him in her arms, she squeezed tightly, offering all the reassurance she could. Jon's true birth had always been a worry, first a cause of outrage, then terror. In time she had sworn to the Old Gods and the New she would raise him and love him as her own, when she had finally made her piece with Ned's revelation. Catelyn had dreaded this conversation ever since, and as time passed and she grew to cherish him in her heart so dearly, it had pained her to think of the struggles he would face, how crudely the world would look upon her little wolf.

But to have it happen like this, in the halls of his own home, from a boy that should grow to be as a brother to him, awoke a rage in her the likes of which she had only known after motherhood.

This was not the time for that. Later, she would deal with that ironbirn brat whose words meant to wound her family in a cruel mockery of his own lot. For now, there was a child to comfort.

She tilted his chin, making sure his darting eyes fixed on her. Now that he had confessed her his troubles it seemed he had greater troubles meeting her gaze than when he was speaking. So brave, he was, and her chest tightened with affection for this little boy.

"Listen to me, Jon. It is true you are not a son of my body, but that doesn't make you any less of a Stark. Your father and I had been married for less than a fortnight when he returned to war, during the Rebellion. 

When King Robert won he came back with you. You were such a little thing, and I grew to love you as much as if you were my own flesh. That your father failed his vows to me was his choice and his alone, and I want you to understand you are not a mistake. I do not regret your existence, Jon, and I most certainly do not hate you, regardless of whatever Theon Greyjoy might tell you."

She huffed, reeling in her chair when Jon threw himself at her. His thin arms wove a tight grip that stole the breath from her lungs, but it paled in comparation to the stab the sniffles coming from around her neck caused. 

"I'm sorry I'm a bastard." He whispered, red strands of her hair stuck to his wet cheeks. Rocking him like she used to do when Robb was in his crib, she hummed a tune that clung to his early memories, thick and sweet as honey. 

"Do not, Jon, do not opologise. You have nothing to be sorry for. I love you. My little dear wolf."

A soft puff of air tickled against her ear. "I love you. Mama." Catelyn kissed his head of curls, breathed in the boyhood smells of sweat, furs and snow and remembered a time when the weight pressed to her was a pink baby with only a smattering of dark hairs. She had hated him then, and she loved him now, and found herself all the happier for it. If the dozing boy in her arms was any indication, so did he. 

They stayed like that for a long time, until the sounds of clanging pans and servants hard at work drifted from the kitchen, marking dinner's approach. Silently, she slid him of her back and dried his tears, gentler than he had been, cleaning any vestige of wetness on both of their cheeks. Catelyn held out a hand again, sharing a smile with Jon when his smaller fingers slotted between hers, now with no cloth between them. It was sheepish, but she was glad to note the hesitation of before had mostly faded. Still Catelyn never weakened his grip, didn't let go.

Jon's stride slowed when they approached their destination. Catelyn smoothed his hair, leaning down to kiss his forehead. He was warmed now to the touch than before.

"Robb is your brother, Jon. He loves you dearly, and nothing Greyjoy could do or say could change that."

Jon nodded, straightening his back under her words. Impulsively he hugged her again for an instant, before gathering his courage and opening the door.

From behind the heavy oak, Catelyn heard her sons' muffled voices, then a thump and the swell of childish laughs and roughhousing between friends. Only then did she let her smile slip from her face. Straightening her spine much like Jon had done before, the Lady of Winterfell turned on her short-heeled boots and turned to seek out her husband.

That night after dinner, Theon Greyjoy publicly apologized for causing insult to a son of Winterfell. Jon was solemn when accepting, as honor dictated, but he comes to her before going to bed and whispers a thank you against her skirts.

Tomorrow Ned would speak to him about he flash of smugness he could not hide from his parents, tomorrow the boys would play outside with Arya tagging behind and Sansa giggling in the sidelines, but for tonight Catelyn wishes the best of dreams for all her children and finds that there is indeed a space in her heart carved for her little wolf.


End file.
